Epilogue: Hail Natasha
Apr 16, 2023 19:14:32 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Venom đź•·, and 3 more like this
Post by Technical Perfection on Apr 16, 2023 19:14:32 GMT -5
My residence, Point Pleasant, April 16th.
I stared into the camera. I was made up, dressed up and eerily calm and relaxed. I peered at the image of myself that looked back at me. It was one I recognised far more than I would have done two years ago. I looked back upon the efforts of my spiritual journey, wistfully, with fondness. But now is not the time to dwell on the past. Now is the time to look to the future. And my future featured over 30 other competitors.
“Viewers of the XHF,” I began, adopting a strong, assured tone, “Though I personally find this manner of conversation tedious, I suspect the narrow minded executives of this Network have been tearing what little hair they have left on their middle aged heads out knowing that while my previous missive have been of great importance to myself, I have as yet failed to mention the actual match I’m in. Now, surely, the mind breaking inanity of near three dozen other superstars all attempting to say why they are going to win in a gigantic, Esmeralda, Yuki and Random excluded, cock waving contest has surely sated your appetite for such content. The Industrial Woman, well I do not wish to presume what equipment they are packing downstairs.”
Leaning back in my comfortable leather arm chair, I attempt to covey a look of being at peace. It is an odd sensation to not have your mind filled with the thoughts of several people. But far from unpleasant.
My face flickered into a self confident smile before I continued, “Still, I suppose I must continue the formalities of this ritual battle of wits, and from the offerings I heave heard so far half-wits, and offer my own thoughts on why I am going to be victorious. So let me start with my fellow female competitors. Random McConalogue. Such a talent. Such a capable, smooth, slick technical wrestler capable of taking down monsters and submitting devils. Of course, you haven’t taken down this monster. This is not your match, wean. Your best hope of winning, if there is any hope at all, is to enter towards the end and hope to sneak out a victory because in a full pitched battle your talents, however considerable they may be, are just a bad fit. And do not think for one brass second that there is any Celtic sorority between us. I will offer you one crumb of comfort. I’m not going to break your neck.”
Far from a sign of weakness, this is a sign of control. A control I have lacked for many months.
“At least, unlike Yuki Sakuraba, you fail to disgust me,” I pulled a face that was a mocking parody of someone about to retch, “If there is one think I despise in a woman it’s conforming to a stereotype in order to sell yourself as property. If I am wrong, which I may be but I do NOT care, then you are a whimpering overgrown womanchild, mentally barely above high school age as you have ultimately tried and failed to grasp the rigour of growing up. If, however, I am right, which I probably am then you are a marketing tool in human form. Selling the image of the cute Japanese girl to fawning, undersexed teenagers on two different continents. You are a human body pillow and you have no shame. I hope to discover whether you are cynical or witless, not because it matters but because it lays to rest a personal question.”
I have always despised those who market themselves upon cuteness. In fact I despise cuteness in general.
“The Industrial Woman? I think there’s only one Industrial Woman in this match. And she’s the one with the full Ministry back catalogue and the signed Cubanate album," I allowed a little haughty superiority to enter my voice, "The one who will be showing no pity for the majority in this match. Or as they say in German, Kein Mehrheit Für Die Mitleid. K.M.F.D.M. And Esmeralda von Krauss. Esme, Esme, Esme. If you wanted to be damned by association, and I’m guessing that you want to be damned for some reason or another, hanging around with Donzig will get you damned by me incredibly quickly.”
I mused on the fact that my own cultists are far more loyal and controllable than my wish.com version's equivalent. Just because I've stopped taking the Sacrament, it does not mean they haven't.
“Esmeralda and Donzig, floating about the orbit of Armand, the Children of the Void, Donzig-gun, the Endless, The Skulltaker, The Infinite Echoes of Silence, The Shades of Happenstance, The Bloodworker, The Crystalline Shard, The Frog, The Dog, The Log, Nightmare Nigel and the Graveyard Wrecking Crew, The Ringmaster, Victoria, whoever," I yawned theatrically before continuing, "I’ve been to more than a few Goth nights in my time, dearhearts, and I’ve seen one too many weans in black eyeliner and latex believing they’re the second coming of Vlad Dracul himself because they own a Black Veil Brides T-shirt and listen to H.I.M. on Spotify. Those youngsters, however, tended to flock to me as some sort of fairy Gothmother, knowing to recognize their superiors. This is to Donzig in particular. Your place in the hierarchy about this network? If I have not already made it too obvious, is well below mine, as is your level of experience in the business. You are welcome to take your shot at the Gothic Goddess if it comes up in the match. But I am warning you. You had better not miss.”
I am not worried. Many have tried to take shots at me in the past. Most have missed.
“Speaking of those with an overblown sense of their own importance, hello Lord Dominicus,” I smile at the camera again, amused by Dominicus’ mere existence, “Are you still the EXEMPLAR OF EVIL on this Network? The most SINISTER and DEVIOUS individual the Network has EVER SEEN IN ITS PATHETIC LIFE? You know, LD. People have called me evil. I’m not evil. Really, I’m not. I mean I am very much not a good person either. And during those moments where I have lost control in the past, where the more violent aspects of my personality have taken control I may have performed some fairly objectionable acts. You can’t make a reputation without breaking a few necks, after all. But to devote your life to LOUD SHOUTY EEEEVIL? People call me crazy (and they’re right but I have been working on it) but you’re just comically over the top. It’s childish fears and adult fears. I might dip into the Mother’s reserve and genuinely hurt someone, if it suits my needs. But I have never endangered my ability to win a match by stopping to tie a metaphorical damsel to a metaphorical train track.”
A dedication to evil as a concept is psychologically unsound. Everything happens for a reason.
“Ah, and then we have Bloodied Fox. Now there’s a man I know," I slump backwards in my seat and continue in a tearcherlike fashion, "LBGTKO and Legion had a storied little rivalry in the AWF. The end of which I have been informed of, my loss to Seth Dillinger. To be honest, I sort of blacked out in that match. Some time after the fourth chair shot to my head. But, in a way, I won that match because I wanted nothing more than to make Seth break. And for him to rain down chair shots upon my head, to attempt to destroy me with the Cradle to Grave, I made him lose his inhibitions. I may not have left as champion but the proof that any man can abandon his morals and fall to madness given the right provocation? Well that was the path of Legion. Strength above all, sanity included. Am I looking to avenge that defeat? No, not really. I know you’re in a dark place anyway, Fox. Meanwhile I am in a far better place than I was back then. Dismiss me as a stoner if you want, dismiss me as suffering from my altered state experiences at your peril.”
I has not taken the Sacrament in near two weeks. It tempts me, but I am stronger than that temptation.
“On topics that were a long time ago, we have Cross Recoba. Yes, we both owe a lot to Chris Card.". I half spit out the name of my brother in law as his mere mentioning is painful, "It was in a Muay Thai gym in the late nineties when that man introduced me to professional wrestling as a career. However, I would have stepped out from under his shadow if my sister hadn’t married the man. I stayed around his orbit because I had to for the sake of my family. You just chose to stay and be overshadowed. And now you have your own little federation. Why is that? Is it because he never did? That finally, after all these years, you have achieved something that the man who choked you out did not? Because what you have not managed is to avoid cliched allusions as to how you have technical savoir faire and a mastery of the dark arts. It’s a Rumble. The ring will be full of bodies. Isn’t a tornado of pure destruction actually what this match requires? And as for a mastery of the dark arts, don’t lecture the woman who created two unique low blow attacks, neither of which is illegal in a Rumble setting. In fact, The Sterilizer or Love Removal Machine, I have used both names and really should settle on one is a unique way to eliminate someone. Chris Card may have taught you some of what he knows, Cross, as he did me. But do not think you’re the only one with unique additions to that,”
I pause, remembering a time long ago when Cross relied on my assistance. Another time, another federation.
“On people my ghastly brother in law has had run ins with in the past, Jack Diamond," I raise an eyebrow, "Why is my life cursed with oh so many independently wealthy technical wrestlers? Still, I cannot deny that you are in some rich vein of form, belts do not come easy. Speaking as a two time Phoenix Champion. But when it comes down to it, all your form, all your pedigree in this format means nothing. On the night is the only time when it matters. And with my hand wrapped around your throat, all that pedigree, all that form, all that fame and reputation means nothing. Any slip up could mean the difference between glory and another X*Crown and a humbling trip down to the mats outside. Confidence is but a coin flip from overconfidence.”
I realise that I may have made a gambling reference towards a casino owner. Humour. Something that I haven't been capable of recently.
“The GUNS Entrants," I sigh, "I shall lump all of you bar one together. For a group of veterans of the industry, defined as underappreciated, defiant in the face of those who would dispute your worth, I have had my beloved son have more coherent, cogent and less cyclical arguments. He is ten. But Dylan Black. You deserve special mention. Two time Rumble winner. Reigning X*Crown champion. A target on your back for every wrestler in the Rumble. What can you do to the man who has conquered everything? Twice. You can step towards and fight. Count on his broken down body. Pick up the pieces of everyone going after him all night long. Lift him up, drop his worn back across your knee. Place your hand around his throat and drive him into the canvas. Hoist him atop your shoulders, throw him forwards and knee him firmly in the groin as he falls. Dylan, I respect your achievements. And with that respect comes a promise that if we lock up I will give you everything in my arsenal. You’ve beaten everyone this network can offer multiple times. But you’ve never faced anything like me.”
I lean confidently forwards, directly addressing both the audience and my competition.
“My name is Natasha Niamh Fitzpatrick Murphy. And I am in complete control of everything that makes me dangerous. No more the wild, out of control monster of a woman that I used to be. Now, if I break your neck you can very much count on the fact that I meant to do it. There are two types of wrestlers in the XHF. Those who fear me… and those who have misjudged me. And by the end of the night, all will celebrate me.”
“All will HAIL NATASHA.”
I approach the camera and bare my filed down incisors for the camera before flicking if off.
I stared into the camera. I was made up, dressed up and eerily calm and relaxed. I peered at the image of myself that looked back at me. It was one I recognised far more than I would have done two years ago. I looked back upon the efforts of my spiritual journey, wistfully, with fondness. But now is not the time to dwell on the past. Now is the time to look to the future. And my future featured over 30 other competitors.
“Viewers of the XHF,” I began, adopting a strong, assured tone, “Though I personally find this manner of conversation tedious, I suspect the narrow minded executives of this Network have been tearing what little hair they have left on their middle aged heads out knowing that while my previous missive have been of great importance to myself, I have as yet failed to mention the actual match I’m in. Now, surely, the mind breaking inanity of near three dozen other superstars all attempting to say why they are going to win in a gigantic, Esmeralda, Yuki and Random excluded, cock waving contest has surely sated your appetite for such content. The Industrial Woman, well I do not wish to presume what equipment they are packing downstairs.”
Leaning back in my comfortable leather arm chair, I attempt to covey a look of being at peace. It is an odd sensation to not have your mind filled with the thoughts of several people. But far from unpleasant.
My face flickered into a self confident smile before I continued, “Still, I suppose I must continue the formalities of this ritual battle of wits, and from the offerings I heave heard so far half-wits, and offer my own thoughts on why I am going to be victorious. So let me start with my fellow female competitors. Random McConalogue. Such a talent. Such a capable, smooth, slick technical wrestler capable of taking down monsters and submitting devils. Of course, you haven’t taken down this monster. This is not your match, wean. Your best hope of winning, if there is any hope at all, is to enter towards the end and hope to sneak out a victory because in a full pitched battle your talents, however considerable they may be, are just a bad fit. And do not think for one brass second that there is any Celtic sorority between us. I will offer you one crumb of comfort. I’m not going to break your neck.”
Far from a sign of weakness, this is a sign of control. A control I have lacked for many months.
“At least, unlike Yuki Sakuraba, you fail to disgust me,” I pulled a face that was a mocking parody of someone about to retch, “If there is one think I despise in a woman it’s conforming to a stereotype in order to sell yourself as property. If I am wrong, which I may be but I do NOT care, then you are a whimpering overgrown womanchild, mentally barely above high school age as you have ultimately tried and failed to grasp the rigour of growing up. If, however, I am right, which I probably am then you are a marketing tool in human form. Selling the image of the cute Japanese girl to fawning, undersexed teenagers on two different continents. You are a human body pillow and you have no shame. I hope to discover whether you are cynical or witless, not because it matters but because it lays to rest a personal question.”
I have always despised those who market themselves upon cuteness. In fact I despise cuteness in general.
“The Industrial Woman? I think there’s only one Industrial Woman in this match. And she’s the one with the full Ministry back catalogue and the signed Cubanate album," I allowed a little haughty superiority to enter my voice, "The one who will be showing no pity for the majority in this match. Or as they say in German, Kein Mehrheit Für Die Mitleid. K.M.F.D.M. And Esmeralda von Krauss. Esme, Esme, Esme. If you wanted to be damned by association, and I’m guessing that you want to be damned for some reason or another, hanging around with Donzig will get you damned by me incredibly quickly.”
I mused on the fact that my own cultists are far more loyal and controllable than my wish.com version's equivalent. Just because I've stopped taking the Sacrament, it does not mean they haven't.
“Esmeralda and Donzig, floating about the orbit of Armand, the Children of the Void, Donzig-gun, the Endless, The Skulltaker, The Infinite Echoes of Silence, The Shades of Happenstance, The Bloodworker, The Crystalline Shard, The Frog, The Dog, The Log, Nightmare Nigel and the Graveyard Wrecking Crew, The Ringmaster, Victoria, whoever," I yawned theatrically before continuing, "I’ve been to more than a few Goth nights in my time, dearhearts, and I’ve seen one too many weans in black eyeliner and latex believing they’re the second coming of Vlad Dracul himself because they own a Black Veil Brides T-shirt and listen to H.I.M. on Spotify. Those youngsters, however, tended to flock to me as some sort of fairy Gothmother, knowing to recognize their superiors. This is to Donzig in particular. Your place in the hierarchy about this network? If I have not already made it too obvious, is well below mine, as is your level of experience in the business. You are welcome to take your shot at the Gothic Goddess if it comes up in the match. But I am warning you. You had better not miss.”
I am not worried. Many have tried to take shots at me in the past. Most have missed.
“Speaking of those with an overblown sense of their own importance, hello Lord Dominicus,” I smile at the camera again, amused by Dominicus’ mere existence, “Are you still the EXEMPLAR OF EVIL on this Network? The most SINISTER and DEVIOUS individual the Network has EVER SEEN IN ITS PATHETIC LIFE? You know, LD. People have called me evil. I’m not evil. Really, I’m not. I mean I am very much not a good person either. And during those moments where I have lost control in the past, where the more violent aspects of my personality have taken control I may have performed some fairly objectionable acts. You can’t make a reputation without breaking a few necks, after all. But to devote your life to LOUD SHOUTY EEEEVIL? People call me crazy (and they’re right but I have been working on it) but you’re just comically over the top. It’s childish fears and adult fears. I might dip into the Mother’s reserve and genuinely hurt someone, if it suits my needs. But I have never endangered my ability to win a match by stopping to tie a metaphorical damsel to a metaphorical train track.”
A dedication to evil as a concept is psychologically unsound. Everything happens for a reason.
“Ah, and then we have Bloodied Fox. Now there’s a man I know," I slump backwards in my seat and continue in a tearcherlike fashion, "LBGTKO and Legion had a storied little rivalry in the AWF. The end of which I have been informed of, my loss to Seth Dillinger. To be honest, I sort of blacked out in that match. Some time after the fourth chair shot to my head. But, in a way, I won that match because I wanted nothing more than to make Seth break. And for him to rain down chair shots upon my head, to attempt to destroy me with the Cradle to Grave, I made him lose his inhibitions. I may not have left as champion but the proof that any man can abandon his morals and fall to madness given the right provocation? Well that was the path of Legion. Strength above all, sanity included. Am I looking to avenge that defeat? No, not really. I know you’re in a dark place anyway, Fox. Meanwhile I am in a far better place than I was back then. Dismiss me as a stoner if you want, dismiss me as suffering from my altered state experiences at your peril.”
I has not taken the Sacrament in near two weeks. It tempts me, but I am stronger than that temptation.
“On topics that were a long time ago, we have Cross Recoba. Yes, we both owe a lot to Chris Card.". I half spit out the name of my brother in law as his mere mentioning is painful, "It was in a Muay Thai gym in the late nineties when that man introduced me to professional wrestling as a career. However, I would have stepped out from under his shadow if my sister hadn’t married the man. I stayed around his orbit because I had to for the sake of my family. You just chose to stay and be overshadowed. And now you have your own little federation. Why is that? Is it because he never did? That finally, after all these years, you have achieved something that the man who choked you out did not? Because what you have not managed is to avoid cliched allusions as to how you have technical savoir faire and a mastery of the dark arts. It’s a Rumble. The ring will be full of bodies. Isn’t a tornado of pure destruction actually what this match requires? And as for a mastery of the dark arts, don’t lecture the woman who created two unique low blow attacks, neither of which is illegal in a Rumble setting. In fact, The Sterilizer or Love Removal Machine, I have used both names and really should settle on one is a unique way to eliminate someone. Chris Card may have taught you some of what he knows, Cross, as he did me. But do not think you’re the only one with unique additions to that,”
I pause, remembering a time long ago when Cross relied on my assistance. Another time, another federation.
“On people my ghastly brother in law has had run ins with in the past, Jack Diamond," I raise an eyebrow, "Why is my life cursed with oh so many independently wealthy technical wrestlers? Still, I cannot deny that you are in some rich vein of form, belts do not come easy. Speaking as a two time Phoenix Champion. But when it comes down to it, all your form, all your pedigree in this format means nothing. On the night is the only time when it matters. And with my hand wrapped around your throat, all that pedigree, all that form, all that fame and reputation means nothing. Any slip up could mean the difference between glory and another X*Crown and a humbling trip down to the mats outside. Confidence is but a coin flip from overconfidence.”
I realise that I may have made a gambling reference towards a casino owner. Humour. Something that I haven't been capable of recently.
“The GUNS Entrants," I sigh, "I shall lump all of you bar one together. For a group of veterans of the industry, defined as underappreciated, defiant in the face of those who would dispute your worth, I have had my beloved son have more coherent, cogent and less cyclical arguments. He is ten. But Dylan Black. You deserve special mention. Two time Rumble winner. Reigning X*Crown champion. A target on your back for every wrestler in the Rumble. What can you do to the man who has conquered everything? Twice. You can step towards and fight. Count on his broken down body. Pick up the pieces of everyone going after him all night long. Lift him up, drop his worn back across your knee. Place your hand around his throat and drive him into the canvas. Hoist him atop your shoulders, throw him forwards and knee him firmly in the groin as he falls. Dylan, I respect your achievements. And with that respect comes a promise that if we lock up I will give you everything in my arsenal. You’ve beaten everyone this network can offer multiple times. But you’ve never faced anything like me.”
I lean confidently forwards, directly addressing both the audience and my competition.
“My name is Natasha Niamh Fitzpatrick Murphy. And I am in complete control of everything that makes me dangerous. No more the wild, out of control monster of a woman that I used to be. Now, if I break your neck you can very much count on the fact that I meant to do it. There are two types of wrestlers in the XHF. Those who fear me… and those who have misjudged me. And by the end of the night, all will celebrate me.”
“All will HAIL NATASHA.”
I approach the camera and bare my filed down incisors for the camera before flicking if off.
